The Kissing Booth
by Orangeblossom
Summary: Scully and Skinner volunteer at a street fair at the Community Crime Prevention Booth, which people keep mistaking for the Kissing Booth. Guest appearances by Mulder and Pendrell.


The Kissing Booth

Skinner looked over at Scully as she explained a "Personal Safety after Dark" brochure to an interested passerby. She was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt with an FBI logo, as he was, since they were volunteering at the Community Crime Prevention booth at the street fair as representatives of the Bureau. His shirt was black, since he disliked the variety of fashion colors they were available in, but Scully had opted for blue—the exact same blue, it turned out, as her eyes.

The effect was startling.

People who casually looked over at their booth looked twice, and hard, at the woman with hair shining autumn red in the sunlight and incredible, mesmerizing blue eyes. And something strange started happening, amusing the first few times, but steadily wearing on Scully's nerves. People kept asking if their booth was the Kissing Booth.

Skinner had tried to deflect some of the attention from her, but it hadn't really worked. And she seemed genuinely bothered by all of it. He knew she didn't appreciate being singled out for her looks instead of her abilities, but her sense of humor had thinned too quickly, as if there were something more going on for her. Her anger wasn't so much that of a person who was tired of a bad joke, but of someone who was having a cosmic prank played on her that hit too close to home to be funny. And as he looked at her, he wondered if her sister was considered the "beauty" of the family, leaving Scully feeling inadequate somehow, and honestly not knowing how beautiful she was in her own right.

Two teenage boys came over to the booth, and Scully looked at them expectantly, ready to give them the benefit of the doubt.

But one elbowed the other, who snickered and then asked, "Are you, um….this is the Kissing Booth, right?"

Her jaw tightened, and she was about to point out, yet again, the sign overhead when Skinner stepped forward, snapped his badge holder open and shoved it in their faces. "No, it isn't!" he snarled. "May I help you, gentlemen?"

They scurried away. And he heard Scully beside him say, "They didn't even take their free Junior Law Enforcement badges."

"Pity." He turned to look at her. There was the faintest of smiles on her face. It was enough, considering how tightly she kept her emotions under control—almost as tightly as he did. So he knew better than to ask if she was okay. Instead, he observed, "Today must rank as one of the all-time high points of your service with the Bureau, Agent Scully."

Her mouth quirked. "I'm thinking it's the pinnacle of my career." She straightened the brochures on the counter and said less evenly, "But if one more person asks if this is the Kissing Booth, I won't be responsible for my actions, sir."

Skinner considered himself warned.

Agents Mulder and Pendrell swept up to the booth at that moment, their yellow "Event Security" windbreakers flapping open in the breeze. Pendrell carefully balanced a cardboard tray of sodas and nachos and pink popcorn, and Mulder's arms were full of a truly hideous stuffed animal. The younger agent skirted the edge of the counter and set down the food and a walkie-talkie.

"Looks like they kept you busy," Skinner said.

Missing the undertone in the AD's voice, Pendrell answered, cheerfully oblivious, "Oh, no, just one drunk-and-disorderly, we escorted him out of the perimeter. Mulder and I just walked around the rest of the time." He smiled at Skinner, taking off his jacket and handing it to him. "It's a great fair, sir. You'll enjoy it."

"Scully, this is the best, the absolute best," Mulder exclaimed, ignoring his partner's rigid expression as he set down his prize and vaulted lightly over the counter. "If you show your badge, the psychic in the stall next to the guy with all the Mediterranean photographs does a free aura reading for you. The canine demonstration the ATF put on was the most incredible thing, I've never seen anything like it! And you've gotta try the garlic fries at the veggie corn dog stand, you'll reek for days. One of the clowns showed us how to make balloon giraffes, and the mounted police let us ride along with them for a while—!"

She stared at him. "Mulder, you're killing me."

At her tone Pendrell sheepishly tried to hide his balloon animal, suddenly sober, whatever influence Mulder had held over his mood gone. In as businesslike a way as possible, he showed Skinner what frequency event security was using on the two-way, and told him their handle was "Mobile 3."

Mulder, too, heard no banter in Scully's voice, but decided he had a good chance of joking her out of her mood. He pulled her to the side and teased lightly, "You've been hanging around with the Surly Man too long."

She pulled her arm from his grasp and retorted, "Don't rip on Skinner!" She turned an hour's worth of anger loose on him. "For God's sake, Mulder—aura readings? Pony rides? It's bad enough you're wandering around here like a ten year old but do you have to corrupt Pendrell, too? And what the hell _is_ that thing?" she demanded, gesturing to the animal on the counter.

He gave her his most disarming grin. "I have no idea. Think Children's Hospital'd take it as a donation?" When that had no effect he shrugged out of his windbreaker and gave it to Scully. "You need to get a snow cone. Really."

She put on the jacket, which was at least two sizes too big for her, and started to leave. "What I need is to stop being volunteered for idiotic things like working at a booth everyone seems to think is—"

"Hey!" A young man leaned across the counter and asked Scully suggestively, "This wouldn't be the Kissing Booth, would it?"

Something snapped.

Scully met his eyes with blue fire and declared, "Yes, it is—but only if you're FBI!" Then she turned, grabbed the first face handy and planted one firmly and deliberately. It happened to be on Skinner. And then she stomped out of the booth.

Skinner's face was absolutely blank. Pendrell looked like a man who'd missed winning the lottery by one number. And Mulder looked from one to the other, not sure what had just happened, or what was going on with Scully. But since Skinner was suited up to do security, Mulder pressed the walkie-talkie into his hands and gestured that he should go after her.

"Tell her she needs _two_ snow cones," Mulder suggested, and watched Skinner's retreating back, a worried expression on his face.

In a small voice, the guy who'd asked Scully the trigger question said, "So…where do I sign up?"

Skinner wove his way through the strolling crowd, keeping the angry bounce of a redhead's walk in sight. He wasn't sure what he'd say to her, or her to him for that matter. Better not to think about it. Except…he hoped she wouldn't say she was sorry for kissing him. Because then he'd have to admit to himself that he wasn't sorry in the least.

She turned a corner and Skinner hurried his pace, not just because of Mulder's concern but his own as well. Not that he ever worried about Scully in the field. She was the most rock-solid dependable agent he had, certainly more stable than her unpredictable partner. But at other times, rare moments, he could see what it cost her to hold herself to her own standards of perfection, and wished there were some way to tell her that she wasn't alone, that he wanted to help. But he never did.

Scully had come to a stop in the middle of the street, standing as if irresolute as people swirled by all around her. He stood beside her, hands on hips and scanning the crowd, carefully not looking at her. "Agent Scully," he said, noncommittal.

"Do you ever feel like," she said slowly, "you've forgotten how to have fun?"

"Often," he said, perfectly honest.

His answer jolted her out of her preoccupation with herself, and she frowned up at him. It had never occurred to her before, but Skinner _was_ one of the grimmest people she knew. Even when he'd flashed his badge back at the booth, which had struck her as funny—doubly so, coming from him—he'd probably done it without the least thought of irony.

"What do you do about it?" she asked gently.

"Someone once told me that the first step was to get over yourself." He finally looked at her. Her expression, to his surprise, had lost most of the white-hot anger from the booth, and now seemed to be part understanding, part commiseration.

"That sounds like a plan, sir." She gestured around them and raised her eyebrow in invitation. "Let's get over ourselves."

In unspoken agreement they walked slowly back to the main street of the fair, trying not to approach their security detail with absolute detachment and professionalism. And Scully discovered that she felt incredibly relaxed being with him. With Mulder she'd reached a level of trust that let them talk about anything, but they were often at odds with each other, their personalities were so different. Being with Skinner was like being with an old friend who understood all her quirks and preferences because they were his own. He didn't insist on changing her moods to suit him, the way Mulder had back at the booth, and he didn't demand that she tell him every single thing she was thinking about at any given moment. Skinner gave her space enough to balance herself after their hour at the crime prevention booth, and reach past that to see what else was there, because that's what he needed himself.

So when they saw the SPCA display Scully deliberately headed for it. As a rule she tried not to get sucked into cooing over small furry creatures, but it seemed as good a time as any not to worry what people would think of her if she did. Skinner gamely talked to one of the women working the booth as Scully crouched by the cages and stroked a sleeping kitten's fur, scratched a puppy behind the ears. When she was through with her little lovefest she turned and was surprised to find Skinner holding a Jack Russell terrier and getting his glasses licked for his trouble, and smiled at his expression of consternation.

Obviously, this wasn't his idea of a good time but he was trying anyway. The SPCA worker relieved him of the puppy and handed him a tissue, saying, "Sorry about that."

"That's okay," he sighed as he took off his glasses and wiped them. "That's what dogs do, it's in their job description."

Scully couldn't help noting, "You're a good sport, sir."

"That doesn't count for as much as it used to."

"Doesn't it?" They looked at each other, and Scully suddenly wondered why she'd ever thought his dark eyes were flat and unrevealing. Without his glasses, she could see the depths in them, and a kindled amusement, and…something else she couldn't put a name to before he put his glasses back on. She wondered idly if at some point in the near future she could get him to take his glasses off again just so she could figure it out. "Come on. Let's get a snow cone."

"Mulder said you needed two…"

They made their way towards the park that marked one end of the street fair, and saw that a music group was between numbers, with a sizeable audience gathered around.

Their radio sounded: "Mobile 3, your 10-20, please."

Skinner looked around for a sign, then said, not without some amusement, "Elvis Presley Memorial Main Stage, back of the crowd."

"Hold your 10-20 until the end of the set change."

"Mobile 3, 10-4." He looked at Scully, who nodded that she'd heard. He looked the stage over. It was built about a meter off the ground with its back against a sloping hill. The stage's scaffolding was hidden by wooden planks except for two gaps at either side of the stage big enough to give a person access underneath. The crowd itself was well-behaved, and he saw nothing that triggered his sixth sense of anything out of the ordinary. Scully had been scanning the crowd passing by at the edge of the park, and now turned back.

On stage, one of the singers stepped forward and said, "As you know, every band does its own tribute to the King, and we'd like to send you off with our version of one of his best. God bless!" She turned and counted off. The drum kicked in with a rolling beat, and then the fiddle. By the time someone had come up with a tin whistle and the singers had joined in with "Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can't help fallin' in love with you," Skinner realized they were doing a revved up, folksy version of the song.

He looked at Scully, and offered on a sudden impulse, "Would you like to dance?"

She looked at him, about to retort goodnaturedly, then looked again, and a small smile curved the corners of her mouth. "You're serious."

"I'm being a good sport." He held out his hands. She took them, and they did an easy, modified jitterbug, Skinner pulling her towards him, leaning away, twirling her around. Her cheeks flushed, and she managed to look shy and delighted at the same time.

The singers on stage joined in close harmony and one of them even took off his cowboy hat as they went into their finish. Skinner twirled Scully a final time and she wound up with her back to him and wrapped in his arms.

She found to her surprise that she liked the feel of him, strong and solid, behind her, that his arms around her were comforting somehow. And she realized that she felt—cherished. And that she liked it.

She savored the feeling for a few moments longer, and then tilted her head back and looked up at him, her eyes bright. "Thanks."

His eyes smiled back behind the wire-rimmed glasses. "My pleasure."

She stepped out of his arms, took a deep breath and surveyed the crowd. He watched her for a moment, and then did the same as the next band set up.

They were both so determinedly absorbed in watching the audience coming and going that the new band's first number caught them off guard. The farthest thing from the previous band, this one assaulted them with no less than two drum kits and a bass line so loud they could feel it in their teeth. Scully grimaced and pointed across the street and back to the street fair. He nodded; they were done here.

When they'd made it to the booths the radio sounded: "All mobile units, all mobile units." As they listened to a physical description of a suspect who had broken a jeweler's case and stolen two handfuls of freshwater pearl necklaces, they turned and scanned the crowd. Scully suddenly pointed and took off.

"This is Mobile 3, suspect in sight, heading towards Main Stage, pursuing," Skinner barked into the radio even as he followed in Scully's wake, across the street and past the audience. The suspect made it down to the stage and ducked under the side of it.

Seeing at once that the press of the crowd was too great at the front of the stage to cut around that way, Scully followed the suspect under the stage, running bent double, with Skinner right behind practically on his hands and knees, the space was so low for him. In the dim light they could see that the suspect was already halfway to the other side, and by the time they'd gained the middle he was out the other side.

A crash they could feel down to the soles of their feet shook the stage above them and Scully dropped to a crouch on the grass, flinging her arms over her head. Skinner knocked her flat on her back and threw himself on top of her, protecting her body with his. When the stage didn't collapse on top of them they both looked up, surprised.

Almost immediately their walkie-talkie, which had fallen next to Scully's head, squawked. She pressed it to her ear to hear it above the overpowering backbeat of drums and bass, the only sound that made it beneath the stage from the band above. "This is Mobile 10, we've got him. Mobile 10, repeat, suspect's in custody."

She nodded, but Skinner shook his head; he hadn't been able to hear the radio. She pulled his face lower and put her mouth to his ear, carefully enunciating, "They got him, he's in custody."

Her lips felt like a caress; he was startled at the thought. Another ground-shaking crash made them clutch at each other instinctively, and then look up. The stage still held. They looked at each other, suddenly, terribly aware of where they found themselves.

_Move, Skinner! Get the hell off of her!_ Yes. Absolutely. She wasn't in danger anymore. No reason to stay the way they were. Light from the gap they'd been heading towards threw sharp shadows onto their faces, but with a slight tilt of Scully's head the shadows dissolved. And without warning he fell, deep, into the blue of a perfect sapphire, of the ocean, of the summer sky. _Move, Skinner! Damn you, move!_

He moved—and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

But when he moved away he saw that she was staring at him, eyes wide with shock. He dropped his head, said into her ear, "I—"

How could he apologize? There was no excuse for what he'd done, only—

"_Why_ are you so beautiful?" he asked helplessly.

"Me?" she breathed. But he didn't hear her. She reached for his face, tried to search his dark eyes but only found the glint from his glasses. It wasn't possible, she thought, that he could work with her, have been the subject of her bad moods and insubordination, know what she shot on the firing range and what she'd scored on the MCAT, and still think she was beautiful. And yet, the man she'd gotten to know that afternoon…the way he'd held her after they'd danced… She removed his glasses, had to know. And saw her answer there.

The rapid, staccato beat from the stage above them was like the pounding of her heart, drowning everything else out. Words were useless. So she wound her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers, offering herself, her mouth yielding to his as he kissed her.

* * *

><p>When they made it back to the booth, they found that there'd been some changes.<p>

A boom box blared music into the street: "Shouldn't I have all of this and passionate kisses? Passionate kisses, passionate kisses from you." Mulder and a woman who, from the logo on her shirt, belonged to the D.C. Police Activities League were both watching his feet as she, apparently, taught him a dance step—it looked to Skinner like the Mashed Potato. Pendrell and another woman from DCPAL were perched on the counter waving at passersby and conversing comfortably. And a hastily rigged sign read, "Kissing Booth - $5. To Benefit Community Crime Prevention."

"Agent Pendrell," Skinner greeted.

"Sir!" He hopped off the counter and came to attention. "Please meet—I mean, may I introduce to you Detective Julissa Hernandez? Detective, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and Special Agent Dana Scully."

They all shook hands. "So who's that with Mulder on the dance floor?" Scully asked.

"That's Detective Maricel Arquilevich."

Hearing her name, Arquilevich looked over, and so did Mulder. "Scully!" he hailed. "It's Mashed Potato Time! Join the party!" And was unspeakably relieved to see her grin. Everything was all right, then. Damn, Skinner was a good guy.

"Looks like you're having enough fun for the both of us," Scully said as the detective came over with Mulder to be introduced.

After they'd all gotten acquainted, Hernandez said, "The guys from Georgetown campus police didn't show, so Agents Pendrell and Mulder said they'd stick around for another shift. They've really been raking it in, too!"

"Look at this, sir, over $100 for Community Crime Prevention!" Pendrell added, holding out a shoebox full of bills for Skinner's inspection, the result of their impromptu Kissing Booth.

Mulder waggled his eyebrows at Skinner and Scully. "Plenty of action all around. Want to stay?"

Scully shook her head, handing her windbreaker to Mulder. "I'm going to call it a day, I think. Thanks, though."

The boom box wailed, "Is it too much to demand, I want a full house and a rock and roll band, pens that won't run out of ink, and cool quiet and time to think? Shouldn't I have this? Shouldn't I have this, shouldn't I have all of this and passionate kisses? Passionate kisses, passionate kisses from you."

Almost as if inspired by the song, with a mischievous look Scully fished out a twenty dollar bill from her pocket, added it to the shoebox and pulled out two fives for change. Then she beckoned Mulder over. He bent close, and she kissed him lightly on the mouth, then ruffled his hair, grinning at him. Pendrell held his breath as she walked over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss, too. Her smile was sweet as she stepped back and regarded him, then took Skinner and Mulder in her gaze, too.

"See you Monday." She turned and walked away.

Mulder caught Skinner's eye—he'd already committed to stay, otherwise he would have made sure Scully got home all right. Skinner nodded as he handed over the walkie-talkie and jacket, letting Mulder know he'd take care of it.

"Thanks, sir," Mulder said.

For the second time that day Skinner caught up to one of his agents at the other's behest not knowing where he stood or what he should say. He and Scully had tacitly agreed not to mention what had happened, and letting her leave by herself would have been the perfect way to pretend nothing had changed between them. But just as Mulder would have, he still went after her to make sure she was okay, even if he never admitted that that was actually what he was doing.

He saw her put a hand to the back of her neck and crane her head first to one side, then the other, and he lengthened his stride, then tried not to act too obtrusive as he came up to her.

"Agent Scully. Heading for the parking lot?"

Her eyes looked tired, but there was still incredible warmth in their blue depths as she looked up at him. "Actually, I took the Metro down here, sir."

"Would you like a ride home?"

She dropped her arm to her side and smiled. "Sure."

Perfectly innocent, he told himself, offering an agent a lift was perfectly innocent. Nothing to be read into the gesture one way or the other. But was that good or bad?

As they drove to Scully's apartment she realized there was a song running through her head and she couldn't get rid of it, or rather, one line of it: _Wise men say only fools rush in…_ She considered long and hard, and then as they neared her front door she started rummaging around in her pockets.

Skinner assumed she was looking for her keys, but when he double parked in front of her building she finally found what she was looking for and placed a five dollar bill on the dashboard. He looked at it blankly, but only for a moment, because when she reached over and pulled him close for a long, slow kiss, he knew what it was for. He jammed his foot on the brake and took her in his arms, and willfully ignored the gearshift poking him in the ribs.

Then she whispered, "Why don't you find a place to park and come inside?"

He cleared his throat. "Why don't I do that?" He smiled.

She liked his small smiles—they were like a secret he shared with her. And as he drove down the block, she sat back in her seat and hummed a tune.

_Shouldn't I have this? Shouldn't I have this, shouldn't I have all of this and passionate kisses? Passionate kisses, passionate kisses from you._

FIN

_Acknowledgments: "Can't Help Falling in Love," written by Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, and George Weiss. "Passionate Kisses," written by Lucinda Williams, sung by Mary Chapin-Carpenter on the album "Come On Come On." _


End file.
